Dear Diary
by TabbyCat33098
Summary: Unable to contain his feelings towards Ishida, Ichigo substitutes a journal for the blue-eyed Quincy, writing in it everything he could never tell Ishida. Probably OOC, ANGST, maybe CANON, maybe not, mild LANGUAGE.


A/N v.2: Let the Purging continue!

So, um, yeah. Lots of angst. But meh, it comes and goes like everything else. And I kinda like it, so whatever. This one is the result of briefly looking at an IchiHitsu fic where Ichigo commits suicide, and the only clues they have as to why are in his diary. I liked the suicide/diary idea. Originally, this was supposed to be a one-sided IchiHitsu where Ichigo committed suicide, and wrote in his journal to Toshiro that he died because Toshiro didn't love him back, but then it became a weird, angsty IchiIshi. O.o

I got to try out a couple writing styles I've wanted to try for some time now: writing in first person [I looked at him] and writing in second person [He was pretty but he never noticed you]. But I basically combined them, and it turned into this. I wrote this at about 2:00 on the morning. I think I do my best writing at night, which is bad news. But meh.

Reviews rock. Always.

**STANDARD DISCLAIMER. I own nothing. Though I did find this disclaimer, and rather liked it: I don't get the whole disclaimer thing. I mean, it's a FANfiction site. Surely that implies that we, as FANS, don't own anything?**

* * *

**Dear Diary**

_**Ichigo's Journal, First entry**_

I saw you again today. But for some reason, I felt like it was the first time I had seen you. You just stood there, amongst the trees, shooting arrow after arrow, training for God-knows-what. And I thought to myself, "He is so beautiful." I must admit, it surprised me. I've never felt that way towards you before. You're like the best friend I want to kill. But for some reason, my heart seems to have decided otherwise.

I found this journal at the bottom of my desk a couple days ago. I think Dad had given it to me to "record my angsty teenage emotions" or some such bull. But when I saw you today, I realized that I would never truly be able to talk to you, not openly like this. And suddenly this journal had a purpose. I write in it now, pretending I'm really talking to you, even though I know you'll never read this. But it calms me a little, and it makes me feel better.

There's not really much I want to say to you right now. Maybe I'll return later; maybe this is the first and last entry. Only time will tell.

_**Ichigo's Journal, Second entry**_

You don't know you're doing it, do you? That subtle sway of your hips, the way you gaze through your lashes, the faint blush that colors your cheeks. You're a master of seduction, and it's all unconscious. Even the way you stand turns me on. Oh, God, how it turns me on. So confident, so sure of yourself, like you know you're a sex god and not afraid to show it.

I can't help but notice every little movement of yours, every word you say. It's hard to ignore you, with that self-assured attitude. You scream for attention, and it isn't even on purpose. How can just ooze perfection without even trying? It's not fair, I tell you!

But then, you've never been one for fair, have you? Always trying to gain any advantage you can. I suppose that describes you in a nutshell. Unfair. And I have to wonder, why the hell am I on the receiving end of your unfairness? You just stand there, and make me suffer because I know that no matter how hard I try, I will never be as strong or perfect as you are.

And I must admit, it kills me.

_**Ichigo's Journal, Third entry**_

Answer one question: Is your hair really as soft as it looks? I just want to run my hands through it, over and over again, until it's thoroughly mussed and you're screaming at me for ruining your perfectly styled hair. But I wouldn't care. Honest, I wouldn't. You can scream at me all you want, as long as I got to stroke those navy locks just once.

Speaking of stroking, were you intentionally stroking that stray cat like that this afternoon? Your pale, nimble fingers sifted through its fur, making me wonder what they would be like in…other settings. I fantasized about those fingers all afternoon, you know. I was daydreaming about your goddamn _hands_. Only you could make me do something like that. Only you.

I'm genuinely curious what they would feel like, though. What they would feel like carding through my hair as we kissed, what they would feel like clenched around my arms as you pulled me from danger yet again, what they would feel like stroking my skin as we explored each other. Why do you affect me like this? Why do you make me think about the most inane things?

You know, Ishida, I think I might be falling for you.

_**Ichigo's Journal, Fourth entry**_

I swear you did that on purpose. I swear I saw a smirk on your face as you "stumbled" and fell into me. It disappeared when I took a second glance, of course. You're too devious to be caught in the act. But I swear it was there. I know you knew exactly what effect that had on me.

But you are devious, aren't you? So very devious. You're prepared for every eventuality. Who would've thought that such a bookish boy could hide such a mischievous child inside? I, for one, never would've seen it coming. But I'm stupid like that, aren't I? I didn't even notice you until I saw you were top of the class. And even then, you had to be pointed out to me. I hate to think that I might never have stumbled across your beauty if it wasn't for that moronic list.

If you were in my place, no doubt you would've already analyzed every little detail about me. In the time it took me to work out who you were, you would've known my life history. Compared to you, I'm little but a doddering fool, barely able to string two words together. We're almost polar opposites, aren't we? You're smart; I'm dumb. You're rational; I'm brash. You're all talk and no action; I'm all action and no talk. You plan; I rush.

Maybe the phrase "opposites attract" is true after all. Maybe that's why I feel such a pull towards you.

Uh oh, I hear Dad coming upstairs. I'll talk to you later, Ishida. But in the meantime, wish me luck.

_**Ichigo's Journal, Fifth entry**_

You're so damn gorgeous, you know that? I just can't say that enough. You don't even know it. I saw the pale scars on your wrists during lunch today, when I grabbed you to steady myself as Rukia rushed by. Those pale scars that could only have been caused by one thing.

How often did you used to cut, Ishida? You haven't done so recently, I could tell that by how much the scars had faded. But you used to. Why would you do that? What could possibly push you to willingly inflict pain on yourself? Such a beautiful, intelligent person, knowingly causing himself harm. How can you live with that? How can _I_ live with that?

It just serves to remind me you're human too, I guess. At the end of the day, whether we are Quincy or Shinigami or regular mortal soul, we all feel the same pain, the same pleasure. We all share the same base. And even though I would willingly worship the very ground you walk on, (and this may sound harsh) you're no god. You're just the same as me.

It was a very chilling realization, to know that someone as superior as you was on the same level as someone as inferior as me. To know that at the end of the day, neither you nor I was different in any regard from the other. I think I much preferred it when I was able to see you as my savior angel.

Some food for thought: we're all mortal.

_**Ichigo's Journal, Sixth entry**_

Even though it's been nearly a month since I last visited this journal, mortality has been on my mind since then. And today, especially, it weighs heavily upon me.

Today is my mother's death anniversary, Ishida. But you already knew that, didn't you? You probably guessed it when you didn't see me at school, and tied it in with every year before that, when I was gone on the same day. You always were a smart one. Or maybe Orihime or Tatsuki just told you, and now you're frustrated because you weren't given a chance to figure it out for yourself. Or maybe you don't even care. It's always hard knowing what you're feeling.

Kurosaki Masaki. The bravest woman who ever lived. She died because of me, can you believe it? Me, the one who protects all others simply because he wants to, was unable to protect the one person who needed protection the most. You know what's even more ironic? She died from a Hollow attack.

I never told you how it happened, did I? You don't know. You probably never will, either. But I can pretend, at least. Right? Let me pretend.

I was just nine, you know. Still in primary school. Mom and I were walking home one night. It was raining pretty hard, like an omen of the future or something. Omens. What a load of bull. But even though I don't believe in them, I can't help but think, the rain was telling me something. I normally like the rain. It's pure, cleansing. But this was an ugly rain, full of horror. Like that night. Full of horror.

I've always been able to see souls. You know that. Even when I was younger, I would see those souls that hadn't crossed over. Because of my ignorance, though, I couldn't tell the difference between souls and humans. So when I saw the Hollow lure there, by the side of the river, looking like she was ready to jump, I thought it was a real woman planning to commit suicide. Even then, I had the urge to protect as many people as I could. So I ran to her, begging her to reconsider.

Mom came after me. She warned me, told me it was a trap, pleaded with me to return. But I didn't. Stupid of me, really. And I kept rushing, and I blacked out. Next thing I know, my bloodstained mother was lying on top of me, protecting me even in death. I couldn't process it. Even now, I can barely believe she's gone.

The Hollow preyed on strong people with strong reiatsus. It was called Grand Fisher. Maybe you've heard of it? It wanted to eat me, but Mom sacrificed herself for me. I'm such an ungrateful person. So worthless. But you understand what it's like to feel useless, don't you? After all, you've felt it too.

_**Ichigo's Journal, Seventh entry**_

I thought we'd discuss something light today. Enough with the heaviness and sadness, eh?

How did you ever get so good at sewing? I mean, sure, you seem feminine, and you act every bit the drama queen sometimes. But that doesn't explain your finesse with the needle. The way you can thread the needle in just one pass, the way your hands are almost a blur as they make those tiny stitches, the speed at which you created that dress for Kon. Remember that, Ishida?

I swear, I could just sit there and watch you sew forever. I could watch your long, graceful fingers move back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, hypnotizing in their repetitiveness. Or maybe it's just your fingers that fascinate me so. No matter what, I find myself just drawn to your fingers. They're so long and slender, and words can't begin to describe the effect they have on me.

I wish you could experience for yourself how much I love those fingers of yours.

Speaking of what I love about you…

Where do I start? Your looks? Your intelligence? Your wit? The way you look at me, with disdain and amusement, all at the same time?

God, I can't resist it anymore.

Ishida Uryu, I think I'm in love with you.

_**Ichigo's Journal, Eighth entry**_

Of course, with my luck, the moment I finally accept my feelings for what they are, my hopes are shattered. And the funny thing is, I've probably seen you act so tenderly towards Orihime hundreds of times before. But I've only just now actually noticed it. I can be so dense sometimes.

You noticed the bitterness in my smile today, didn't you? I know you did; why else would you ask me if I was okay? But I'm happy for you, Ishida. Truly, I am.

Today's entry is rather short, isn't it? But I can't bring myself to continue.

_**Ichigo's Journal, Ninth entry**_

You know, I told myself last time that I would be content with whatever part of you I could get. I didn't tell you that, of course. Didn't want you to feel obligated. But there's no harm in telling you now, is there? Since it's a lie. I won't be satisfied with just any part of you. I want all of you.

And I'm never going to get it.

It pains me to see Orihime receiving so much of your attention, while you shirk me as normal. Funnily enough, even though you _know_ that she loves me, you keep trying to sway her. Why can't you just let go, Ishida? Why can't you accept she'll never love you back?

But who am I to talk, right? You can't accept it for the same reason I can't accept that you'll never love me back: There's still that stupid, illogical, irrational shred of hope that maybe, just maybe, the love will be returned.

_**Ichigo's Journal, Tenth entry**_

Hope. Such a foolish thing.

I can't sleep tonight, so I pulled this journal out. Thought that maybe you might be able to help me. Not very likely, is it? Since you're the one invading my dreams.

Every time I close my eyes, I see you there. I see you, giving Orihime a flower, or tucking a lock of her hair behind her ear, or treating her to ice cream, or something like that. And it reminds me of everything I will never have.

So with that, I bring this journal to a close. It's a short journal, isn't it? Ten entries over the course of a year. But instead of helping me, talking to you only reminds me of everything I've lost.

I love you, Ishida Uryu. And for that, I hate you.

**FIN**


End file.
